


Tuesday Morning

by zalzaires



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics A2: Grimoire of the Rift, Final Fantasy Tactics Advance
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalzaires/pseuds/zalzaires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Randell misses a few days of work that week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesday Morning

It was all that time spent crawled into a bottle that did it, they said, nevermind that he'd crawled back out over a decade ago now. Nevermind that no man in his twenties, even if it was his _late_ twenties, should have to bury his father – but the world hadn't cared about his mother when he was barely ten, so it was no surprise that it still didn't now.

 

All he could think was that there were so many things he had still needed to say, but the truth was, they had never been all that good at talking to one another – or at least, Mewt hadn't been good at it. Words on a page had always been so much easier to deal with than word of mouth. And hypothetical conversations, he realized, would always be more meaningful and clear-cut in his thoughts than the ones he could actually have had. They had both known he was sick, even if dad tried his best to assure things were better than they were – it hurt Mewt to see, it was such _familiar_ behavior, but it would have hurt them both more to lash out and demand he say out loud that _no, no they aren't_.

 

It was so much quicker than his mother's had been. He fuzzily recalled long months of shuttling back and forth from home to hospital on any visits they could spare, any extra minutes that could be squeezed into the day to spend at her bedside – and dad had stayed so very cheery, right up until the bitter end. Always smiling, even as they had watched her waste away with each passing day. It had been gradual, but relentless. Time faithfully ground away any shred of hope.

 

But this had been different. He had bad days, good days – and astoundingly great days, where he would call Mewt on the phone and eagerly chatter, and plan with him to maybe do something interesting and _adventurous_ , and Mewt would smile into the receiver in a way that hurt because he could barely believe it. And that was the mistake. He did believe. With his father, he had allowed himself to believe that yes, there was a chance that things could get better –

 

It was a Tuesday morning. He'd just managed to run a comb through his hair once or twice, and secured his tie with for once only minimal fuss. If he didn't hurry, he'd be a bit late to work, but really it was alright if he was, as there weren't any terribly bookish children attending the school in the first place. The library and its keeper would most likely not be missed in the least.

 

The phone rang.

 

He got to it on the second ring, after fumbling his keys and giving them up to the floor, for now. He curled his fingers reflexively into the looped cord. If it wasn't for that grip, he would have dropped it straightaway from shock.

 

The school went without their librarian that day.


End file.
